


Birthdays

by Mistress_of_Squirrels



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Depression, Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/M, Mentions of Cancer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:16:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7457530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_of_Squirrels/pseuds/Mistress_of_Squirrels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the War, Ying hated birthdays. She hated the obligation of selecting a gift, the recipient's silent judgement, the false smiles and forced gratitude, the overpriced cards with empty words one couldn’t be bothered to actually say. Birthdays were a pointless spectacle of greed and consumerism, a popularity contest for those that liked to pretend they’d outgrown such nonsense. </p>
<p>Now, it was different. Surviving another year in the Commonwealth was actually an accomplishment worth celebrating. For Ying, it was another stroke of the clock, another grain of sand slipping through the glass. She wondered if that was why Hancock made such a fuss about it, wondered if Shaun would come to the same conclusion in another ten years when she’d aged by a decade and he had not. </p>
<p>Ying still hated birthdays. Each one would just be a reminder that she only had so many left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr prompt by Raiven-Raine: "You know how I feel about birthdays." 
> 
> Unimaginative title is unimaginative, but oddly fitting.

Something tickled at her nose, pulling Ying from sleep. She scrunched her face, trying to ignore it, but the sensation came again, more insistent this time.  Cracking a bleary eye open revealed Hancock grinning down at her. The ghoul was propped on a bony elbow, waving a lock of her own long black hair beneath her nose. **  
**

“It’s too early for this shit, Hancock,” Ying scowled, slapping his hand away. She threw her pillow at him for good measure and then promptly stole his when her aim went wide, rolling away from him with every intention of going back to sleep.

Hancock had other ideas.

An arm snaked around her waist as warm lips pressed against the back of her neck. “Happy Birthday, Sunshine.”

Ying stiffened at the mention of her birthday and then slowly relaxed. Twisting so she could face him, she cupped his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss. “Is that what this is about?” she asked with a forced grin. “You know it’s not actually today, right? It was just the first date that came to mind when I forged my documents.”

“I know, but you never told me your real one.”

“If I knew it, I would,” she replied with a dismissive  shrug. “Birthdates were used as another method of identifying people - not the sort of shit you want to go broadcasting when you’re trying to hide your kid from the government you technically deserted. Besides, you know how I feel about birthdays. They’re just another day.”

The words rang hollow in her ears. They were true once, but now she could taste the lie in them, like ash on her tongue.

_Another day, another tick of the clock._

“Yeah.” Hancock ran his hand down her back and then up again, fingers sliding over the bumps of her spine. “Listen, doll, if you don’t wanna do this, just say the word.”

The playful note of humor she’d woken to was gone from his voice, and she wanted it back. It never seemed to last long anymore. They still talked and joked with one another, still exchanged little signs of affection, but there were times that it all felt so flat they might as well have been reading lines from a script.

Turning toward the ghoul, Ying shifted on the lumpy mattress until they were flush and smiled up at him. “I do. Ignore me, John, I’m just being grouchy.”

Hancock rolled to his back and tugged her with him until she was draped over his upper body. Black eyes searched her face, his brow furrowed as he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

Ying dropped her gaze as she considered her words. “Just…everything. Father, the Institute - all of it. I haven’t exactly made things easy recently, I know, and I’m sorry, but…”

She met his eyes again, suddenly anxious. Her answer had been seeded with kernels of truth, meant to shield and deflect, but her apology - she meant that with everything in her. If he believed nothing else, she needed him to believe in that.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for,” Hancock said softly. He was quiet for a few minutes before he dropped a kiss on the top of her head, letting out a long sigh against her hair. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here, doll: you’re startin’ to worry me. I ain’t lookin’ to pry, but I know there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me. If you need time to work shit out, I get it, but you ain’t alone in this.”

Tucking her head beneath the ghoul’s chin, Ying nodded and whispered, “I know.”

Keeping secrets was ingrained. She’d gotten better about being more open with him, but how was she supposed to tell him something she hadn’t even begun to come to terms with? Every time she tried, she faltered into stunned disbelief. It was a bad dream that haunted every waking moment; to acknowledge it was to make it real.

Ying laid her head on his chest and listened to the beat of his heart while he stroked her hair. Had it been an option, she would have stayed like that indefinitely, but Hancock still had a town to run. Reluctantly, they parted and dressed.

“I’ll see you tonight?”

Ying  nodded. “I hear the mayor’s throwing a party,” she teased with a half-hearted smirk. “No way in hell am I missing that.”

Hancock’s answering grin was cautious, and she had no right to be as hurt by that as she was. “I’ll see you then.” He hesitated a moment and then kissed her hard, leaning down to touch his forehead to hers when they finally broke apart. “Believe me when I say I know the look of someone that’s given up,” he rasped, low and urgent. “That ain’t the right look for you, love. You’re a fighter.”

Before she could respond, he was gone.

Her mouth fell open in a silent cry of denial as Ying stood, rooted. After what seemed like an eternity, she whirled without thinking and slammed her fist into the wall. Ancient plaster cracked and crumbled into fragments of dust that drifted to the floor as a deep, pulsing ache slowly spread through her fingers. Blood welled from her torn knuckles, dripping to her wrist in a thin stream. Ying stared for a moment, slow to understand, and then absently wiped her hand on her jeans.

She grabbed her Pipboy and a canister of jet from the nightstand and flopped down on the empty bed. Even with the jet flooding her system, it didn’t take long to find what she was looking for; the precise pattern of dials and buttons was practically muscle memory by now.  She could almost recite the words of this particular entry by heart:

_Director,_

_Per your request, I have concluded genetic testing on your mother’s blood sample. I regret to inform you that my findings confirm she also carries the defect in the MSH2 gene we believe to be responsible for your particular form of cancer. This indicates that our suspicions were correct; the mutation is hereditary rather than spontaneous. While the implications are unfortunate, I see no issue with synth production. Any such defects in the DNA used for synthetic tissues were corrected long before our scientists fully understood their significance._

_Should you choose to share this information with your mother, it would be pertinent to inform her that her own risk of developing the disease is substantial. A more favorable prognosis might be achieved with early screening, but the carcinogenic effects of radiation and her time on the surface must be taken into consideration._

_I would be happy to discuss a management/treatment plan, but further testing is necessary._

_-Dr. D. Volkert_

Funny how something as simple as a terminal entry could change her entire outlook.

Finding it had been an accident. She’d been trying to keep the slaughter at the Institute to a minimum and thought she’d convinced Father to aid her in the evacuation. In hindsight, she wondered now if he’d wanted her to find that report, if his cooperation had been nothing more than a parting shot.

_At first glance, the entry, titled only ‘Regarding Your Mother’ seemed innocent enough. It pissed her off that they hadn’t even bothered with her name, but after pretending to be his tool for so long, the mere extension of Father’s reach to the surface,  she’d come to expect nothing less. She assumed it was just another warning from some department head questioning her loyalty. All things considered, she couldn’t fault them for their caution. As she began reading, however, she realized it was something else entirely._

_Most of what Ying read was lost on her, but she understood enough to get the general idea. Bad genes and rads meant she probably wasn’t going to be one of those people that had to worry about getting old._

_“What the fuck is this?” she demanded, waving a shaking hand toward the screen. Eyes flashing, she whirled to face Father. “I never consented to this!”_

_“I was going to tell you when you returned from your last assignment.” His scowl deepened the lines in his weathered face as he added, “You never did. I’ll admit to some concern, but it seems I needn’t have worried for your safety. I see now that you were out gathering your forces to attack us.”_

_“And this is why! People's’ lives are not your playthings! You had no right!”_

_He seemed genuinely puzzled at her vehement response. “You truly would rather not know?”_

_“Yes! I can’t change it - what good does it do to have this hanging over my head? You don’t get to decide that you know what’s best for everyone.”_

_Father let out a bitter chuckle, his features a mask of disgust. “Isn’t that what you’re doing now, Mother? Deciding the fate of the Commonwealth?”_

_“No,” he she hissed, jabbing a finger in his direction. “I’m giving them the freedom to determine their own fate without some phantom puppet master controlling them from the shadows. The Institute is done.”_

_“You had the benefit of time- something I did not - and you’ve thrown it away for the sake of your naive ideals! You’ve doomed humanity, and yourself as well.”_

A flare of pain jolted her from her memories and once her eyes focused, Ying realized she was clutching her Pipboy so tightly her knuckles were white. She flung the device into a corner of the room and rolled to her side, drawing her knees to her chest. When the tears came, there was no reason to hold them back. She pressed her face into the mattress and sobbed until she had nothing left.

It was fucked up, and she didn’t deny it, but for the first time, she’d tasted true happiness - all it had taken was the end of the world. Now, a genetic crapshoot threatened everything, and it was hard to be optimistic when the odds were not in her favor.

Alternating between periods of dozing and staring at the water-stained ceiling, Ying passed the day, until it was time to meet at the Third Rail. If she hadn’t already promised to be there, she might have stayed where she was. She was so fucking _tired_. Even the thought of facing a crowd was exhausting.

On the other hand, a party gave her an excuse to get blackout drunk, if nothing else, though she’d never needed one before. Anyone that took issue with her habits was welcome to go fuck themselves, but lately, her use of chems and alcohol had increased to the point that even Hancock had remarked on it. Probably a bad sign, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The chance of any of that actually mattering wasn’t as high as she used to think it was.

 

* * *

 

Goodneighbor never slept. There was always someone out and about, regardless of the hour, and even the most reclusive citizens wandered into the fray when Hancock decided to throw a party - probably to help themselves to his booze and chems.

As Ying rounded the Old State House on her way to the Rail, nodding at a few well-wishers that passed her, she heard an excited voice yell out “Mom!” and looked up to see Shaun running toward her. Her lips curved into the first genuine smile she’d worn all day.

“Hey, kid,” she greeted, pulling the boy into a one armed hug. “Did you have fun with Daisy?” Ying raised her hand in a little wave above Shaun’s shoulder when she spotted the ghoul woman coming to meet them, a paper-wrapped package tucked in her thin arms.

His dark head bobbed in an animated nod, “Her shop is super neat! Have you seen how much old stuff she has there? Miss Daisy even told me what everything was for and gave me a box of parts.”

The boy launched into a detailed list of all the items Daisy gave him and his plans for them. Ying listened with far more patience than she typically displayed, grinning at his enthusiasm. “And Miss Daisy says I can use her workbench,” he finished brightly, beaming at the woman.

“Anytime you want, honey, you’re welcome to it,” the ghoul replied with a fond smile.

Shaun nodded happily and then frowned as he caught sight of the package she still held. “I almost forgot! I made something for you, Mom. Well, not really made, but I fixed it.” The boy took the bundle from Daisy and held it out to her.

Ying took a small flip knife from the pocket of her jeans and sliced through the ratty length of string that was tied around the package. Peeling back the layers of faded newsprint revealed a camera that looked almost new, save for a few minor scuffs and scratches.

“It really works,” Shaun stated proudly, waving his hands around in excitement. “Miss Daisy even found some of that tape stuff to make the pictures. She said you’re from before the War, too, and you guys used to take pictures of everything.”

Ying nodded, running her fingers over the camera. “We did. You fixed this yourself?”

“I needed help finding the parts, but I did the rest. Do you like it, Mom?”

“Very much. Thanks, Shaun.”

“Can we take a picture now? Just one?”

“There won’t actually be any pictures until we can get the film developed,” Ying chuckled.

“I thought your reporter friend might be able to help with that,” Daisy spoke up. “Shouldn’t be too hard to figure somethin’ out.”  

“And when you leave again, you can bring the picture with you! That way you won’t forget me when you’re gone. Until I grow up. I can just come with you then, right?”

A painful knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Ying tried to grin at him but the expression felt wooden and false. “I’d never forget you, kid. Never.”

Far more likely that he’d forget her. Even if the die roll came up in her favor, both Shaun and Hancock were all but guaranteed to outlive her. Shaun would never grow up, his body frozen forever in the form of a ten year old child. Hancock would age, but so slowly so that it didn’t matter. Each passing year would only widen the gulf opened by time, until one day, she’d be nothing more to them than a fond memory.

She swallowed thickly and handed the camera to Daisy. “Would you mind?”

“Sure thing.”

“Take a couple, okay?” Ying slung her arm around Shaun and winked at the boy as she added, “That way we can both have one.”

When Daisy handed the camera back, she pulled the smaller woman into a hug. “You got time, honey,” she whispered, the rasp in her voice even more pronounced than it usually was. “Let tomorrow worry about itself.”

Ying let out a dry laugh, but sobered when she saw the other woman’s expression. “…Yeah. Hey, Daisy, do me a favor? Would you get one of me and John?”

Daisy nodded, blinking a few times before she drew in a breath and straightened. “How about we head inside before you’re late to your own party.”

 

* * *

 

Hancock had chosen to keep things simple, a fact Ying was eternally grateful for. He was at home in a crowd, the life of the party, and possessed a flare for the extravagant - the exact opposite of her. That he would reign all that in for her meant more than she could properly express.

The Rail was full, but the bulk of the crowd had gathered in the VIP room. People wandered back and forth for fresh drinks, but most of the tables in the actual bar area were unoccupied and there were plenty of empty dark corners around if she needed a break. Magnolia had the night off - Ying could see her working her way through the crowd - but someone had brought a jukebox in and loaded it with all of her favorite songs. The atmosphere was festive, but not overly boisterous. Several people came by to offer birthday wishes, but few lingered for long; Ying was not sociable by nature, and by now, everyone knew it.

It wasn’t the same as sprawling out on one of the couches in the State House with Hancock, just the two of them, but as far as parties went, this one was as close to perfect as it could get. Yet instead of relaxing and enjoying herself, Ying found she only grew more morose as the night wore on. Even the idea of getting shit-faced had lost its appeal; after sipping her way through her third drink, she gave it up entirely and switched to cola.

Hancock stayed by her side when he could, but with this many people in the same place, it seemed like there was always someone after the mayor’s attention. Ying tried to be a good sport about it, laughing off his apologies and shooing him away when yet another citizen asked for ‘just a few minutes’, but if she had to watch one more drunken drifter get handsy, someone was getting cut.

As her replies became more curt, people began to get the hint and started avoiding her. Lighting a cigarette, Ying stared sullenly as gray ribbons of smoke curled and drifted to the ceiling.  She felt guilty for her attitude, but she was more angry with herself than anyone else. As much as it shamed her, Hancock had been right - she’d given up, allowed her fear and rage to pull her into despair.

Talking about fighting was easy without context, but in this instance, what was she supposed to fight? Her own body? Time itself? Death was the one unbreakable rule of life. It didn’t discriminate; all were bound to obey…and yet so many in this very room had managed to evade that decree for centuries.

The crippling weight of the last few months slowly fell away as an idea took hold. There were plans to be made, details she needed to iron out, but for the first time in such a long time, it felt like she could draw a full breath again. It was only a glimmer, but it was hope, and she’d been without that for far too long.

There was every chance she would fail, or worse, but at least it would be on her terms. That alone left her feeling more like herself than she had since the day she watched the Institute crumble and burn.

Ying never was one to follow the rules. She saw no reason to start now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mild smut. Nothing overly graphic, but still nsfw

Hancock woke to the dull ache of a hangover throbbing in his temples. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sunlight streaming in through the gaps of the boarded up windows, blindly throwing an arm out to pull Ying against him as a shield. When his hand met only the thin rumpled fabric of her blanket, the ghoul squinted at the empty space beside him and frowned.

It wasn’t like waking up alone was anything new for him. Hell, most of his past bedmates left long before there was any chance of falling asleep. He’d preferred it that way. No awkward shuffle as they tried to slide out of bed and creep toward the door without waking him, no tense moments of indecision where he was caught between letting them sneak away, or calling them out on their shit and watching them scramble to make up an excuse.

Hancock hadn’t blamed ‘em. Not really. They were using him, sure, but his own intentions were far from noble. He’d always been upfront about that, and appreciated those that had the decency to do the same.

Ying was different. There weren’t any games like before. All that shit ended well before she started sharing his bed, but even after, it still wasn’t all that uncommon to find himself alone come morning. She rarely slept more than a few hours at a time, couldn’t sit still for more than maybe half that, so it hadn’t bothered him.  

Until a couple months ago when everything changed.

It was easy to blame it on the Institute. She hadn’t been the same since they came back from that place and he couldn’t really fault her. No one should have to take their own kid out, no matter how much the bastard deserved it. Felt like more than that, though. He was no expert on that kind of shit, but he’d seen her grieve after Glory, seen remorse cling to her lashes in shimmering beads she tried to hide when Des told her about Patriot. Whatever happened up in the Director’s sick room went beyond grief or regret, and it hadn’t let go of her since.

Ying was still there every night, if not every morning, but even then, sometimes she wasn’t and he’d definitely seen that before. It was a handy little trick of hers, running without actually leaving, and she was good at going through the motions. It probably would have been easier if he didn’t notice when she was miles away, but he did. Every time.

He could blame it on the Institute. Made sense, even, but that part of him that just wouldn’t _shut the hell up_ wondered if it was more than that. That little voice made sense, too, and it was getting harder to ignore. He’d been joking – kind of, but not really – when he told her she didn’t want to wake up to his face every day. Maybe he’d been right after all, and she couldn’t handle it as well as she’d thought.

It didn’t _seem_ like something she’d be bothered by, but the woman that went into the Institute wasn’t the same one that walked out. He tried to be patient, give her what she needed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he no longer knew what that was. This new version of her was a stranger at times, and he didn’t have a clue how to reach her.

But his girl was still in there. He didn’t see her much anymore, but now and then Hancock got a glimpse. It was the only thing that kept him from giving into the fear that maybe he’d never really known her at all. Maybe he’d been wrong about everything.

There was no doubt in his mind that it was his girl that had smiled up at him last night and asked if he wanted to leave the party early, laughing as she tugged at his hand and led him back to the Old State House.

The woman with despair in her eyes was nowhere in sight when Ying pushed him against the closed door of their room and kissed him, pulling at his clothes and grinding against his hip as her lips and teeth grazed his throat.

His first thought, as they stumbled to the bed, had been chems, but it couldn’t be that. She’d hardly touched anything all night – was about as sober as she ever got, especially with the way she’d been at it lately, so something else had to be at work.

He’d wanted to ask about it, but it was hard to think with Ying squirming in his lap, her small hands roaming over his back and chest. It sure as hell didn’t do his concentration any favors when one of those same hands slid lower and she wrapped her fingers around his cock. As she rose up on her knees and slowly sank down, the tight, wet heat of her surrounded him and all coherent thought fled in a single, sharp rush of breath.

They’d fucked, that first time. Desperate and dirty, with flashing teeth and raking nails, and damn had he missed that. The second time was something else. Slower and softer, languid touches and long kisses, like they had all the time in the world. It lacked the raw excitement of the first round, but he found he missed it even more. It had given him hope that there was a way back from this, and he’d put off asking what was going on again. They’d have time to get into that later.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Hancock sat up and lit a cigarette, dark eyes sliding to Ying’s empty side of the bed. He took a deep drag, blowing a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling as he snapped the lighter closed and tossed it on the nightstand. After a few minutes, he traded his cigarette for an inhaler of jet and leaned back against the headboard with a sigh.

He’d thought last night was a good sign, but then again, maybe he’d been wrong about that, too.

 

* * *

 

Her stomach was in knots as Ying thanked Claire and left the Rexford, but there was also relief. Nick was still in town. She’d been afraid he’d already left when she found his room empty, but Claire suggested she try the Memory Den.

Figured. He was probably over there flirting with Irma.

Ying avoided the Den when she could; Kent’s death was still too fresh, his vacant room a reminder of everyone she’d ever let down. Irma wasn’t exactly her biggest fan, either, but then, she fell firmly into the category of ‘people let down’ and had every damn right to be angry. Normally, Ying tried to respect that and stay out of her way, but there were times Irma just had to deal. This was one of them.

She found the detective sitting next to Irma’s couch, head bent toward the scarlet-clad woman as the two of them talked. Both looked up when Ying came in, their conversation forgotten.

“Well, look who it is,” Irma cooed, red lips curving in a plastic smile. “Amari’s downstairs, sweetheart.”

Ying held back a flinch at the use of Irma’s favorite pet name and shook her head. “I’m not here to see Amari. I wanted to catch Nick before he left, is all. Nothing urgent,” she added with a glance toward the synth. “I just didn’t want to miss you.”

Irma’s mouth tipped into a pout. “Well,” she sniffed. “I suppose we were just about finished, anyway.”

“Don’t rush on my account,” Ying said over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “I can wait.”

Outside the Den, it dawned on her that barging in like that had been pretty rude, but that seemed to be a recurring theme with her lately. She’d been so wrapped up in her own shit she didn’t have the attention or energy for much else. Hopefully, that was all going to change soon. If everything worked out the way she wanted, there’d be plenty of time for apologies later.

Ying sighed and rubbed her eyes, wondering if all she’d have to show for any of this was a new obsession to eat away at her. Last night had been great. It took off slow, but by the end, she’d felt better than she had in months. Yet she hadn’t slept at all. This was supposed to be about taking back control, and somehow, in the span of a few short hours, she’d let it consume her.

Nick came out a few minutes later and Ying waved to him.

“You know, kid,” the detective said as he joined her. “I wasn’t planning on leaving without saying goodbye.”

Blinking sheepishly up at him, Ying shrugged. “I wasn’t sure how soon you and Piper had to get back. Thanks for coming, by the way.”

“Anytime. And I’m not even sure where Piper is right now. Probably off trying to interview everyone in Goodneighbor.”

“I hope she’s careful,” Ying frowned. “A lot of people around here like their privacy. I should have introduced her to Daisy. That woman can talk for hours.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. Piper can handle herself.”

They talked about Goodneighbor and Diamond City for a bit while Ying stalled. Asking for help wasn’t easy, particularly for what she wanted to know. She had no idea how the synth would react and wanted to put it off as long as possible while she tried to think of a way to persuade him. Just in case.

Nick looked at her curiously. “Is everything alright, Ying?”

It took all of her will not to fidget beneath the soft glow of his eyes. Pasting on a grin, she forced herself to hold his gaze.  “Just tired. Why?”

“Seemed like something was bothering you last night,” the detective remarked, casually lighting a cigarette. “And you’re not exactly one for smalltalk.”

“Yesterday was a long day.”

“And this?”

Ying scowled and rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to pull the whole cop routine, aren’t you supposed to offer me a smoke first?”

Nick pulled the pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his trench coat and tossed it to her. “There, wise-ass. Now, are you going to tell me what this is really about, or are we going to keep beating around the bush?”

“Fine,” Ying sighed, looking down at her hands. “I need your help, Nick. Or, well…more like the other Nick, I guess.”

The synth fell silent, the soft whir of his processors the only sound between them. When Ying chanced a peek up at him, his expression was unreadable, and she immediately felt guilty.

“Look, I know what I’m asking, and I’m sorry. Really. I just…I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“What is it you’re after?” Nick asked cautiously.

Ying hesitated, rolling her unlit cigarette between her fingers. “I need more on Eddie Winter,” she said at last.

“You helped me track him down,” the detective pointed out with a puzzled frown. “Not to mention all the news coverage when he was cleared. You probably remember that better than I do.”

“Yeah, but you – I mean, _Nick_ – was actually investigating that asshole. He must have known details that weren’t released to the papers.”

“Can you narrow it down for me? Unless you’re interested in listening to me narrate Nick’s case notes, I’m going to need something a little more specific to go on.”

“That holotape he left for Claire mentioned a doctor in East Boston.” Ying leaned against a street lamp, pausing to light her cigarette before she asked, “Any idea who he was talking about?”

Nick frowned in thought for several moments and then shook his head. “Sorry, kid. The old memory bank isn’t what –”

The synth broke off to give her a look of deep suspicion and Ying bit back a curse. She should have known better than to involve a fucking _detective_ of all people, but Nick was the only one that might have the information she needed.

“You’re talking about the doctor that gave Winter his ‘treatments’,” he said flatly. “That’s what this is about.”

Ying crossed her arms in silent defiance, lips pressed into a stubborn line.

“Does John know?”

“Know what?” she asked, raising a brow. “ _You_ don’t even know, Nick. You’re going off assumptions.”

It was a pathetic attempt at evasion, and even she knew it, but her thoughts were such a jumbled mess it was the best she could do. Making something up might have served her better, but she drew the line at outright lying to those she cared for. He caught her, but that was fine; she wasn’t required to explain herself to anyone.

“Knock it off, kid,” the detective sighed. “Look, whatever you’re planning is probably going to end up with you in the morgue, but you’ve heard all that before.”

Ying’s breath caught in her throat as his words stirred memories of another conversation that happened long ago. She’d been distracted by trying to slip out of her cuffs, but he’d used that same exasperated tone of voice. Hell, he’d even had that same look, and how he managed that with a different face was beyond her.

The original Nick was just a street cop then, not yet having risen to the ranks of detective, but she knew damn well what the synth was referring to.

“I remember,” she said quietly, feeling like an unruly teen all over again. And she remembered her flippant response. She scraped at a spot of rust on the lamp post with her fingernail and added, “You never mentioned that I was in his memories.”

“You never said anything, either,” Nick countered.

“It didn’t matter. You’re not him.” 

As soon as the words left her mouth, she blew out a frustrated breath and flicked a hand in irritation. “That came out wrong. Look, I just didn’t want to make things weird, okay? I didn’t even know his name until I saw his picture in the paper with Jenny Land’s.

“When you told me about everything and I finally figured it out, it seemed like a bad time to bring it up. You were trying to build your own life apart from his. What was I supposed to say?

“‘I know you’re kind of having an identity crisis right now, Nick, but by the way, that guy they crammed into your head arrested me a couple times.’”

“It was more than a couple,” the synth muttered, but his tone was tinged with amusement.

“It was.” She flashed a grin but quickly sobered. “I didn’t say anything because you and me are you and me, and that has nothing to do with him.”

“He was proud of you, you know. What you’d done with your life.”

Ying swallowed, nearly choking on the little laugh that bubbled up in her throat. He hadn’t known her the day they spoke in his car, and he still didn’t know her on those rare occasions they’d passed one another in the courthouse. If he had, he would have seen that there was nothing to be proud of. Her life had still been in pieces; she’d just gotten better at hiding it.

“You and me, Nick,” she repeated softly. “But thanks for telling me.”

The detective nodded, and after a few beats asked, “You’re really going to go through with this?”

“If I can find a way.”

“And you don’t think John has a right to know?”

“He does,” Ying sighed, “but I’m not going to waste time discussing hypotheticals. If I find what I’m looking for, I’ll talk to him before I do anything else.”

“And you want to find whatever that doctor cooked up for Winter,” Nick mused. “You sure that’s wise, Ying?”

“Whatever was in those treatments has at least one success in it’s favor - probably two. In any case it, it seems safer than streaking through the Glowing Sea. I’m saving that one for plan B.”

“This isn’t a joke,” the detective admonished. “You could end up dead, or worse, kid. You might want to take some time and think it through first.”

“I’m not dying slow in a fucking bed, Nick!”

A couple drifters glanced over at her outburst, and Ying glared daggers at them until they hastily went back to what they were doing.

“This is my choice,” she continued in a rough whisper, her hands clenched at her sides. “Not yours, not John’s. I’m doing this with or without your help, even if I have to sift through that entire area plank by plank.”

Nick was quiet for so long that Ying was ready to walk away, but just as she turned to go, he spoke. “I don’t like this, but I don’t suppose I can stop you.

“I told you earlier, I don’t know anything about that doctor, but there was a murder over that way shortly after Winter disappeared – had his MO stamped all over it. The victim’s name was Ivans, but it all goes blank after that.”

“You think it might be the same guy?”

The synth waved his skeletal hand in a vague ‘who knows?’ gesture. “It was Winter, I’m sure of that much, but that’s all I got, kid.”

“It’s a place to start, at least. Thank you, Nick. I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well, you can thank me by not getting yourself killed. How do you plan on finding that guy, anyway? All you have is a name.”

Ying shot the detective a grin and shrugged. “Call me old-fashioned, but I figured I’d find a phone book.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...don't even know how long it's been since I last updated this, but for a number of personal reasons, it hasn't been the easiest thing to write and I needed a break. I'm including a warning here for the mention of suicide, and the topic of dying in general. I'm not sure it warrants an official tag, or how to tag it for that matter, but if that kind of thing is more than you can handle, I'd strongly advise skipping this chapter, or this fic entirely.

 

Finding a phone book, it turned out, was much easier said than done. Booths were everywhere, but a paper directory was no match for the elements. Ying resorted to searching behind the counters of stores and restaurants, hoping that shelter might have saved one of the books from the ravages of time. It was tedious work, and two hours in, she still hadn’t found anything.

 

Ying made a face as she tossed a rolled issue of the  _ Boston Bugle _ to the counter and sighed, “Not one fucking phonebook seems to have survived the apocalypse, but somehow the damned paper turns up everywhere we go.”

 

“More copies,” Nick remarked with a shrug. “Makes sense if you think about it. Look, you had to know this whole thing was a shot in the dark to begin with.”

 

Of course she’d known that. It just wasn’t something she let herself think about. A shot in the dark was still better than nothing, and far preferable to admitting defeat and returning to Goodneighbor empty-handed.

 

She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t go back to Hancock with no explanation and only bad news to salve the wounds she’d inflicted. It was crazy, but crazy had paid off before. She just had to find something to make it all worth it. 

 

“Then I’ll have to keep looking,” Ying said, gaze resolute. “You don’t have to stay, Nick. You gave me a place to start. That’s more than I had any right to ask.”

 

Nick shook his head, the soft glow of his eyes brightening as he grinned. “In for a penny, kid. Besides, now you’ve got  _ me  _ curious. It’d be nice to close the case on Ivans once and for all.”

 

“Thanks, Nick.”

 

Tears burned her eyes, and Ying turned before the synth could see her blink them away, silently issuing a stern order to pull herself together. There’d been enough crying in the past few weeks to last the rest of her life - however long it might be - but the overwhelming mix of gratitude and relief that welled up in her at Nick’s good-humored reply was not so easily stuffed back down. 

 

There was a limit to how much shit a person would put up with, and Ying knew she had a talent for pushing beyond the breaking point. Nick hadn’t made any secret of the fact he wasn’t happy with what he knew of her plans. Secretly, she’d feared this would be it: the final shove that ripped their bonds, old and new, to irreparable tatters. It’s why she’d offered an out, despite the cold ball of dread that formed in the pit of her stomach as she did, and why a part of her still couldn’t believe he was staying.

 

He wouldn’t cheer her on, but he wasn’t bailing on her, either, and that meant more than she could say. 

  
  


 

 

* * *

  
  


 

 

Leaning out from the cover of a ticket booth, Nick fired two quick shots at a charging feral. A third shot rang out from somewhere to his left, and he caught a flash of dark hair as Ying ducked back behind the door of a maintenance room. The ghoul stumbled and fell, its misshapen body sprawled across the rusted tracks of the subway. It didn’t get up again, but three more, attracted by the noise, were loping up the dark tunnel to take its place. 

 

Nick fired again, muttering a curse when it did little more than stagger one of the creatures. It quickly recovered, managing to catch up with the others, but before Nick could take aim again, Ying reappeared, something round and metallic clutched in her hand. 

 

“Heads up!” 

 

It was the only warning he got, delivered with a wild grin and all the glee of a Prewar kid let loose in a candy store, before she tossed whatever she’d been holding. Nick watched the object sail overhead in a graceful arc, recognition dawning scant seconds before it landed at the feet of the ferals. He had just enough time to fall back behind the booth before the resulting explosion rocked the tunnels, sending chunks of concrete and debris raining down on him. 

 

Removing his hat to shake off the dust, Nick listened for snarls or growls, but heard only the light tread of Ying’s steps. He looked up, meeting her smirk with a shake of his head. Taking the hand she offered, he let her pull him to his feet, and clapped his hat back in place. 

 

“Was that really necessary?” the detective asked dryly, shooting her a look of mild disapproval. “Where’d you even get that thing, anyway?”

 

Past experience had taught him that Ying gathered explosives like a squirrel hoarded nuts, but he hadn’t seen her bring anything like that along when they left Goodneighbor, or noticed any on her person. He really hoped she wasn’t carting grenades around in her backpack... 

 

“In there.” Ying jerked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the maintenance room behind her, expression unrepentant as she shrugged and added, “It worked, didn’t it?”

 

He couldn’t actually get headaches, but his Prewar predecessor had suffered through enough of them that the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in an effort to ward one off was difficult to resist. He settled for the facsimile of an irritated sigh instead. “You’re lucky you didn’t bring the place down on top of usI”

 

The change in Ying was instant, stirring memories of another time, another life. Turning her back on him in silent defiance, she began rifling through the junk on the counter, but not before he caught the flash of guilt in her eyes.

 

Gone was the confident woman that refused to bow to the wasteland, and in her place was the teenager he... _ Nick _ ...used to haul in for petty vandalism; scared, lost, and determined to hide it behind a wall of chems and bad attitude. She was a bit hot headed then, but smart enough to learn to only get caught on his beat - usually when she needed food or a safe place to sleep. Survival had been her priority, and in that, Nick’s own experience with her matched his counterpart’s. 

 

Now, the detective couldn’t be sure where her head was at. The parallel between this insane mission of hers and a certain mayor weren’t lost on him, but something still didn’t feel right. For all his bluster as Hancock, Nick had known John when he was still a bright-eyed kid back in Diamond City. Going ghoul might have been an accident, like he claimed, but after watching that light fade bit by bit, year by year, Nick had to wonder if that was a trip he’d ever planned on coming back from. And now Ying was after the same thing, with John none the wiser. Why?

 

Nick didn’t know, but before this went any further, he intended to find out. 

 

“You mind telling me what’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, lighting a cigarette. 

 

Ying turned startled eyes his way, as though she’d forgotten he was there. She scrubbed a hand over her face and then let it fall to her side, only for her fingers to begin beating a nervous rhythm against her thigh a few moments later. “I already told you what I’m looking for.”

 

Nodding, Nick agreed. “You did, yeah, but what I want to know is why. Plenty of easier ways to kill yourself in the Commonwealth, kid.”

 

“You think I want to die?” She stared at him, mouth going slack in disbelief, and let out a choked laugh. “Don’t worry, Nick, you can save the intervention. That’s not what this is. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

 

Bringing his smoke up for a long draw, Nick mulled over her words. “Good to hear,” he said at last, “but that choice of phrase was more about making a point. If you manage to get your hands on that drug - and that’s a big ‘if, kid’ - you’re gambling your life on the toss of a coin. Pretty high stakes, if you ask me. Even for you.”

 

With a sigh, Ying sank down onto a bench, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I know,” she said quietly. “Believe me, I know. And if there were another option…but there isn’t,” she said firmly, meeting his eyes. “And even if the worst happens, even if....then it’ll be by my terms.”

 

“Never figured you were one to go chasing immortality.”

 

“I’m not stupid or naive, Nick. People die. Out here, they die a lot. I get that. But there’s a difference between eating a bullet and wasting away for months while your body destroys itself from the inside out.”

 

From what he’d heard, there didn’t seem to be much difference between what she was describing and ghoulification, but he doubted telling her that would do any good. Stamping out the remains of his cigarette, Nick cautiously took a seat beside her. Her gaze followed him, but she stayed quiet, sliding over to give him room. “What brought this on, Ying? Why the sudden fixation?”

 

He’d seen her reckless and indifferent, he’d seen her obsessed with revenge, he’d seen her high and he’d seen her low. He’d even seen her afraid, but he’d never seen that kind of dread in her eyes. Not even when that psycho from the gallery was stalking her. 

 

“Shaun,” she whispered, so softly he had to strain his auditory sensors to hear it. “He was dying, long before I ever found the Institute, from some kind of cancer. They said it's hereditary, and Nate - ”  Her voice broke and Ying swallowed hard, clasped hands pressed between her knees, her eyes distant. “Nate wasn’t the one with the shitty genes.”

 

Fumbling with his pack of cigarettes in uncharacteristic clumsiness, Nick eventually got one lit and wordlessly offered it to Ying before lighting another for himself. Not the wisest action, considering what he’d just learned, but avoiding carcinogens in the wasteland was like trying to avoid stepping on cracks in what was left of the sidewalks. “You’re sure?” he asked, voice flat. 

 

Humans died. It’s just what they did. Some had more time than others, but that never seemed to matter much when the friends he’d made over the years inevitably met their fate. Ellie, Piper, Ying, the folks in Diamond City - all were destined to join the dozens of other faces that had faded into nothing more than fuzzy memories. He knew that, and yet knowing never made it any easier to let go. He did what he could for them while he could, but this wasn’t just another case he could solve. 

 

Ying gave a half-hearted shrug and slowly rolled her cigarette between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s not a guarantee, but it’s a big risk, and one I’m not willing to take - or have hanging over my head for the rest of my life. I don’t mind dying, Nick.  I don’t  _ want  _ to anywhere in the near future, but if I was after the fountain of youth or some fairy tale bullshit like that, I know right where to find it.” A slight shudder ran through her shoulders as she shook her head and finished, “I - I don’t want to go out like that, losing myself a piece at a time.”

 

Nick had spent too long establishing his own independence to fault her for fearing the loss of her own, and he didn’t feel like he had any room to judge her on the rest. One of the perks of being held together by scrap was that there were always spare parts to be found. Ying or any other human, didn’t exactly have that in their favor. For all the harm the Institute had done, their skill in medicine far surpassed any doctor on the surface and even that hadn’t been enough to save their director. If she actually got sick, what chance did she have?

 

“I still think John deserves to know,” Nick sighed. “But you’re right, it’s your decision. Just keep your head on straight, kid. We’re not going to get anywhere if we end up buried under rubble.”

 

He still didn’t like it, not one bit, but at least she seemed to have weighed the potential consequences. And one thing he knew about Ying: once she had her mind set on something, she’d do it, and to hell with what anyone thought. At least this way, he could make sure she didn’t get herself killed before she found what she was looking for. After...after was out of his hands. 

 

“I’ll tell him,” she promised. “Once I’ve found it. I told you, I wouldn’t do something like this behind his back.”

 

“And if you don’t find it?”

 

Ying stood, brushing dirt and flakes of rust from her pants and moved to a row of payphones along the far wall. “One bridge at a time, Nick.”

 

They searched the station for another three hours. Having come up empty-handed in the more obvious places, they’d split up to search the cars. Nick was just about to give up on his and suggest they move on when he heard Ying shout his name. He met her, nearly tumbling off the step in her excitement. As he reached out to steady her, she shook a battered phone book in his face. Nearly a third of the pages had been ripped out, likely used as kindling in one of the fire barrels they’d found scattered about, but the residential section was still intact. The business listings would have been more helpful, but it seemed their luck was only going to hold so far. 

  
  
  


Nick followed Ying back to the counter, watching in silence as she eagerly began flipping through the pages. After a few moments, she found what she was looking for and pointed to the faded print, sending him a questioning look. 

 

Peering over her shoulder, Nick scanned the three names listed, drawing on memories he normally tried to repress. One name stood out, though he couldn’t actually recall seeing it before. 

 

“That one. Andrew Ivans.” At Ying’s raised brow, he sighed, and tapped a skeletal finger against his temple. “Look, kid, who knows how many names I’ve got floating around in here. Under the circumstances, I’m as sure as I can be.”

 

“127 East Fourth Street,” Ying read aloud, then carefully tore the page out and tucked it into her pocket. “You ready?”

 

“As I’ll ever be," Nick said waving a hand toward the stairs. "Lead on, kid."

 

If she noticed his morose tone, she didn’t say anything. Then again, aside from their little heart-to-heart earlier, she hadn’t been very chatty since they left Goodneighbor. In hindsight, it wasn’t hard to see that this was what had been eating at her for so long, but there really wasn’t anything he could do to help her get it out of her system. There were only two outcomes to all of this that he could see: she’d find what she wanted, or she wouldn’t. Nick just wished he knew which one to hope for. 

 

He lost track of the time as they made their way through the ruins, dodging super mutants and raiders near every step of the way. The sun was behind them as they began the long walk up what was left of Fourth Street, and sinking lower with every minute that passed. They found the house just as the last sliver of light slipped beneath the horizon. It wasn’t truly dark yet, but the soft orange glow of early twilight wasn’t going to last long enough to conduct a proper search of anything.

 

Privately, Nick doubted there was anything left to find after so long, daylight or no. The house still stood - or most of it, anyway - but that’s about all that could be said for it. One wall had crumbled entirely, though whether it was damaged by the bombs or simply the ravages of time was anyone’s guess. Half of the adjacent wall remained, but beyond that, the interior was nothing but a mound of broken bricks and twisted sheet metal. 

 

Ying’s dismay was evident, but brief. After a minute or two, her jaw tightened and she started forward, shoving the hanging door frame out of her way as she stepped inside. Before she could get too far ahead, Nick placed a hand on her shoulder. 

 

“The light’s just about gone. Better to get some rest and start fresh in the morning.”

 

“I have a light,” she argued, indicating the contraption strapped to her wrist. 

 

“Yeah, and you’ll draw anything that passes by with that. Get some sleep, kid. Whatever’s in here isn’t going anywhere.”

 

With a sigh, she nodded and began clearing a spot big enough to lay down. Nick helped, and once she was curled up with her pack, he lit a cigarette and settled in to keep watch. 

 

He didn’t sleep, and so he didn’t dream. Not like some of the newer synths. He’d be lying if he said he’d never wondered what it was like, but after watching Ying shift from one restless position to another, hearing her wake with a gasp and a muffled whimper, he decided he was probably better off. 


End file.
